


Love, Dating, and Relationships

by whelphereweare



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Emotions, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Like too many, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Team as Family, from a minor character, i don't know how to name things to save my tiny life, i just took the canon noodles at the wall and picked what stuck, separate from the threat, threat of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelphereweare/pseuds/whelphereweare
Summary: “Come on, Parker. We never hang out anymore!”We’re fighting.“What are you talking about, Nick? We hung out last weekend!”“We’re dating, we’re supposed to spend more than just every other weekend together!”Again.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 134





	Love, Dating, and Relationships

**Peter's First Person POV**

“ _ Come on _ , Parker. We  _ never _ hang out anymore!” 

We’re fighting. 

“What are you talking about, Nick? We hung out last weekend!” 

“We’re  _ dating _ , we’re supposed to spend more than just every other weekend together!” 

Again. 

“We’re in  _ college _ ! I’ve got class and an internship and homework and group projects and a million other things to do! I can’t just drop everything to hang out with you!” 

But that’s what couples do sometimes, right? 

“Oh! So, I’m not a  _ fucking priorty _ anymore! You had lunch with MJ just a couple days ago! What, are you fucking her now?!” 

“That’s  _ ridiculous _ ! You know that’s  _ completely _ insane! She’s one of my best friends,  _ Christ _ !” 

“Well I’m so fucking sorry I’m an idiot and I’m not as smart as you! I bet you’re next excuse is I’m not in a major that’s as  _ demanding _ as yours, right?!” 

They fight, screaming and shouting and stomping all over each other’s nerves until you can’t take being in the same room as the other person for another  _ second _ . 

“I  _ never _ said that and you kn-!” 

“You didn’t have to  _ say it _ , Parker. You just think you’re smarter than every other  _ fucking _ person here just cuz you shrug off everyone who  _ loves you _ to get your  _ damn perfect grades _ . Well,  _ fuck you _ !  _ We’re done _ !” 

Right? 

He slams the door as he leaves my apartment and I stare at the door as the tears start to fall silently down my cheeks. 

That’s just love, 

_ right _ ?

********************************

I go out on patrol because I know what would happen if I was in my apartment when he comes back. 

And he will come back. 

That particular argument and ending is happening more and more often these days. So, homework on a random roof is the plan of the evening. Well, until, “Spidey baby! Thought you weren’t coming out til later!” 

I throw my pen at him on instinct and I’ve got my book up like it’s a good shield or something before I can process that this is Deadpool and not some ambiguous murder/kidnap/notafuntime threat. The show-off catches the pen and tilts his head like Spider-Man brandishing a book and tossing a pen at him isn’t that off from the norm. 

I mean, it’s not  _ that _ off, but come on! 

“Little wound up there, Webs?” 

I wave a hand in what I’m hoping is nonchalance and reply automatically with, “I’m fine, sorry.” as I pick up my stuff scattered over the roof to shove it back into my bag. 

But the thing is, I’m realizing that maybe I’m not. Because the mask is moving and catching on my face that suggests dried tears and the stiff muscles point towards not moving or maybe even breathing all that much for a pretty decent amount of time. I’m, also, not completely sure what I’ve been doing for the past hour other than play every single argument I’ve had with Nick over and over and  _ over _ inside my head.

Aparently not fucking  _ studying _ like I  _ needed to _ . 

I’ve wrestled everything into my bag and I’m trying to think of a place to stash it when a hand lands on my shoulder and thank fuck I only jump a bit and let out a half screech instead of throwing a solid punch. Deadpool lets go of my shoulder immediately and holds his hands palms out and somehow conveying concern with those white mask lenses of his. 

He takes a hesitant step back as he says, “Ok, no touchie, got it.” 

A small sigh with, “Wait, no, I meant…” and another sigh while I drag a hand over my face. I don’t even know where to start explaining this. Or even how this has  _ started _ or got so deep and so tangled up and  _ crappy _ and - 

“Hey, baby boy?” Deadpool says more gently than anything I’d ever heard out of him before. I look up to find that he’s gotten a little closer with an indecisive tilt to his head and a worried scrunch to his mask around his eyebrows. 

I wait for him to make up his mind. 

I don’t have to wait too long before his head is straight and he asks “Wanna just ...skip patrol and hang out a little?” He must see my response in the frown and the twitch of my brows because he adds in quickly, “I’m sure your devil friend wouldn’t mind covering for you?!” The frown turns to a line before I start trying to chew my lip off as he adds softly, “Come on, baby boy. Give yourself a break.” 

And - 

My shoulders sag at his words as the air pushes tiredly out of my lungs but my mouth curls into a small smile he seems to read just fine despite the mask. His crinkles lightly in what I’ve come to assume is a smile as he places a hand lightly on my shoulder. 

“Alright,” he asks cheekily and obviously back to his usual antics, “your place or mine?” 

************************************

Deadpool’s place is not exactly a new place for me. We’ve hung out a few times before and he’s patched me up several times after rough fights. It’s a relatively bare two bedroom apartment. There’s a couch, a tv, gaming stuff, plenty of food in the kitchen,  _ loads _ of weapons in the spare room. 

Very DP, all in all. 

He says he’s ordering pizza and won’t hear any protest I make against getting the food I love instead of whatever he might prefer. While he works on pizza, I contact Daredevil and ask him about a thousand times if he’s sure he’s ok with the super late notice and I’m really sorry about this and call anytime you need help and, again, really really sorry about the whol- 

He hangs up on me and texts me it’s fine he’ll do it. 

_ We all need a little help sometimes _ is the last text I get from him that night. 

Overall, not the most awkward conversation I’ve had with a superhero. 

Sadly. 

“Alrighty, Spidey,” Deadpool says with a clap of his hands, “whatcha wanna do with our night off?” 

I look up from where I’m stood frozen in the middle of the living room staring at my phone. “I, um…. I hadn’t really thought that far.” I reply with my sheepish smile sneaking into my voice from under the mask. His stretches, suggesting a grin I wish, wholeheartedly, that I could see, and not for the first time.

“Well, I’ve got games, movies, a couple board games I think I can unearth from the weapons room, and, uh, we could cook something but we did order pizza sooo….. Ok, maybe I didn’t think this through either.” 

I snort as I toss my phone on the couch and hop on next to it. “Games,” I reply with a smirk, “it’s been a while since I beat you in Smash.” And, with a cackle from Deadpool flopping next to me on the couch, we’re off. 

It’s after pizza and video games and several hours of banter and jokes that I’m catching my breath after crying from laughter at something Deadpool had come up with that I think, 

_ You should tell him _ . 

It cuts my breath and the last huffs of laughter are brought up short. 

The thing is, I don’t really talk about Nick much at all and I almost never talk about the fights we have unless it’s a direct, unavoidable question. I don’t lie to people, not out right. But I don’t give them any details either, unless they ask. 

You learn a thing or two through trial and error. 

Sadly, my heart doesn’t seem to ever get the memos. 

“I had a fight with my boyfriend.” I blurt out and the immediate silence makes me want to simultaneously curl into a ball while whining and launch myself out the nearest window at full tilt. 

Then, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” asks Deadpool as he pauses the episode of whatever background show we had on while we joked and talked. The question makes me look over at him, not because of the words, everyone acts interested at first, but because of the way he said them. Because everyone acts interested or sorry for you at first, but hardly anyone ever  _ means _ it. 

And he, dare I say, sounds like he might. 

Which is why I guess I find myself saying, “Yes.” in a quiet voice that’s still too loud in my head. 

And he - 

he waves me on, as if to say ‘the floor is yours’ and I…. well I tell him. 

I tell him  _ everything _ . 

I tell him about the fight from tonight and all the lovely dates we’ve been on and all the other fights we’ve had and how we got together and how I started a pinterest board of dumb romantic stuff I thought he’d like or I’d like to try and haven’t touched it in three months. 

_ Everything _ . 

_ And he listened _ . 

By the end of it I’ve laughed and cried and preverbiable vomited my soul onto his couch, at his feet, and into entirely too many tissues. And - honestly - it feels like breathing again. It feels like I was fighting with one arm behind my back and half drowning the whole time and finally,  _ finally _ , I’m on dry land with two hands and I can  _ move _ ! It’s like - 

Well. 

Enough metaphor. 

“So ... and correct me if I'm wrong, but it really seems like he’s…. um….” 

“Crappy?” 

“.... I mean I was trying to find something nicer but yeah, no, crappy is totally what I’d go with. Sorry.” 

A wet huff of a laugh escapes my throat as I reply, “Don’t be. Everyone’s said worse with less information.” 

A shift of fabric from where DP is sitting, indicating a shrug and a, “Still.” said in the most matter-of-fact way is all that it takes for me to look up and really  _ look _ at the man in front of me. 

He’s got his mask rolled up to his nose, like I do, and I know that it’s a real show of trust for him to keep it up for this long without even the excuse of food or drink. He used to ask if we could eat back to back and that was only after he had worked up the courage to ask and I had badgered him into eating  _ something for gods’ sake you paid for it _ ! His skin is just as marred as the first time I had seen it and no more a deterrent to seeing the rest of his face as the first time. But even with half the mask still on, between the concerned set of his mouth and the open but half tensed posture of the rest of him I know he means it but wants to fix it and can’t see how. 

He cares. 

But he knows that some things aren’t as simple as they seem. 

Because I have told him  _ everything _ ….. but the one thing I don’t know how to say. And he hasn’t told me _ , not once,  _ what I’m _ supposed  _ to do. 

“There’s something else, right baby boy?” 

He’s too damn smart for everyone to think he’s so fucking stupid. 

“I -” I start but I can’t figure out how to get the rest of the words out. How - how do you  _ even _ , 

“F-four months ago he said he’d….” my voice drops to a whisper because I don’t, _I_ _can’t_ \- 

“He said he’d kill himself, and I really think he might.” 

The silence is deafening again but this time I’m so empty, I can’t bring myself to find a window to launch myself at. Through. Whatever. 

So I look up to find a man on the brink of something he hasn’t decided yet and too tense to be anything other than fire, tightly reined. His shoulders scream his need to launch himself into action against this new information but his wide, expressive, twitching lenses tell me he hasn’t quite figured out what that action is. 

“No, you can’t kill him.” comes from my mouth in a matter-of-fact, tired tone that elicits a growl but nothing more. 

But then- 

_ then _ \- 

there’s warm strong arms wrapping me up tight in a grip that brokers no argument. Deadpool mumbles, “I’m sorry he…. just - look I’m here for you, ok? I’m here for  _ you  _ and I’m not going anywhere.” 

And that…. really that right there, alone, was enough. 

************************************************

Two weeks later I break up with him while he’s on a spring break trip with his friends for a week I was never really invited to. 

I block him on everything I can think of and stay at Deadpool’s apartment that week and the next, have the locks changed to my apartment the day he leaves and before I break up with him, and anything that’s remotely his is packed and dropped at his place along with the key that I had to his place. 

Three weeks in MJ and Ned start asking me questions as to ‘why  _ the hell _ is Nick texting me?’ and ‘Um…. why doesn’t my key to your place work anymore?’ 

So…. I tell them. 

They ask why I didn’t tell them three and a half weeks ago and I say…..something. 

Excuses aside, I think I didn’t tell them because I had stopped telling them so many things that it just seemed like the natural response to new things in my life at this point. Don’t mention until absolutely necessary and hope to hell there’s no overly opinionated lecture. 

There’s only one lecture (Ned might be an actual saint, while MJ has  _ opinions _ ). Aunt May just makes a vague illusion to teenagers making mistakes and something about college parties that I really  _ don't _ think I wanna understand before I redirect her attention to something else. 

_ Anything _ else. 

The most surprising, though, is Deadpool keeps his word. 

He doesn’t shove his opinion down my throat, doesn’t shriek in happiness at the break up (even when I tell him he could since that was Ned’s, MJ’s,  _ and _ Aunt May’s reactions.) He makes sure I’m doing ok with whatever thought process (ie obsessive spiral) I happen to be on at just that moment. He dealt with me barging into his apartment at odd hours to collapse onto his couch in an act of complete exhaustion or careful avoidance. He tackled me to the nearest available soft thing when my pacing threatened to wear a hole in whatever available walking surface (including, but not limited to: floors, walls, ceilings, my own god damned stability -,) in his place. 

But then, after a month or so, Nick just ... stops. 

Stops showing up at my apartment or outside my classes or harassing my friends to the point that they harass me.

At first it's a little terrifying so I hack his accounts only to find he’s still active. I see him once or twice on campus, long enough to determine he was alive but not enough for him to notice me. MJ even sends me a picture of him with a girl a couple days later (with a rant attached as to how he  _ so _ shouldn’t be moving on so soon). I think about pointing out we don’t really know if they’re together but decide that that might encourage her to find out and, no, no thank you. 

And after about a week of no Nick encounters or incidents, practically holding my breath the whole way, I finally start to feel ...like it's over. 

Everyone is happy when I tell them we broke up and I broke up with him and all we did was fight for the last several months so I should be ...happy? I should feel free and happy and ready to get back out there and go to bars and blind dates and maybe get a dating app or something. 

….Right?

****************************************

“You just need to get back out there. Like, just go on  _ one _ date and even if it’s not amazing it  _ can’t _ be worse than dating The Asshole. Then you’ll go back to finding your own dates. With supervision.” 

I  _ do not _ want to get back out there and go to bars and blind dates and maybe get a dating app. 

MJ, unfortunately, is having none of it. 

It might be useful if I could bring myself to explain to her why I don’t want to but…. 

“MJ, you really don’t need to find me a date.” 

“Have you found one for yourself?” she fires back, sharply. 

“No, but -” 

“Then I do, I really do. I mean -!” 

She lets out a rough sigh and it’s the first real sign she’s flustered even a little by this whole thing when she usually flawlessly pulls off completely apathetic. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want to? Are you not over him or something?” 

And this is the thing. The question that I can’t figure out how to answer. That I don’t know how to put into words this weird feeling of,  _ no _ . 

“I’m -” I start, watching as her eyes search mine with a hard look in them. 

Because she’s expecting,  _ I’m not over him _ . 

She’s expecting,  _ I can’t see myself without him _ . 

When really it’s just ... _ No _ ! 

“I guess I’m just nervous. But your right, guess it’s time to get back out there.” 

But I’m a sucker for my friends’ worry. 

I tell Ned that MJ is setting me up with someone and he’s so happy that  _ You’re finally moving on! _ I don’t have the heart to complain to him like I had planned to. 

So I pack up my bag and head to the lab. 

Mr. Stark usually sent a car unless I was already close, but today I decide to make the trek. I might lose my mind if I don’t burn off some of this annoyance. 

I get to the Tower and F.R.I.D.A.Y. lets me in, letting me know that Mr. Stark is in a meeting. I tell her to let him know I’m here but I’ll just be in the lab, no rush. It’s probably a testament to my scattered mind that I didn’t realize Mr. Stark was in the lab until he tapped me on the shoulder. 

“Gah! M-mr. Stark!” 

He raises an eyebrow at me. Once he does a sweep of the lab the other one joins in the climb up his forehead. 

“Any reason for what looks like five open projects, two new ones, and your homework, kid?” 

Ok, maybe those things are a testament, too. 

I fidget a couple of holo-plans around and, “Um, well, uh” my way into oblivion before Mr. Stark saves and shuts down all my internship projects, then pulls me physically from my homework and over to his old, comforting couch. With a light shove, I sit on one end while he grabs the coffee pot, milk from a mini fridge, and a couple mugs from a cabinet. He deposits everything on the coffee table, snatching his own mug of disgusting near-black mire and giving me a look from the other corner of the couch that tells me I’m not getting out of this. 

So I make my coffee. Well it’s more milk than coffee but the term coffee is a loose one for the near-black sludge of over caffeinated  _ something _ that Mr. Stark calls ‘coffee’. But then it’s made and warm in my palm and down my throat and there’s no avoiding the subject anymore. 

I try to say something but some sort of strangled half-word is the only thing that escapes my chest and I give up with a deep sigh as I flop my head backward onto the back of the couch. 

“Look, kid, you know I’m crap at guessing at your problems.” 

That gets a weak chuckle from me and a worried smile from him. He’d once spent several hours trying to guess what was wrong with me the last time something was bothering me this much and, as it turns out, his imagination is far worse than my reality. 

With that oddly comforting thought I look up at the ceiling as I reply, “MJ is setting me up on a blind date.” 

There is a moment of quiet before, “You know the tone of that sentence really makes it feel more like MJ is selling your soul on the internet for a dollar instead of a blind date.” 

This gets a decent laugh from me and when I get myself back under control enough to look over at Mr. Stark, I have a sneaking suspicion he did that on purpose. 

The triumphant smirk is turned away from me as he gets another cup and says, “Besides a blind date isn’t  _ so _ bad, right?” 

I go back to looking at the ceiling as the mild warmth that had leaked into me from the joking floats right back out. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” I say as I pull myself into sitting like a person again. 

Mr. Stark looks back over after I’ve arranged my face into appropriate levels of sheepish and nervous. He ruffles my hair as he adds, “Can’t be worse than the last one. You’ll have a great time I’m sure, kid. Now let me show you this thing I’ve got….” 

I don’t think it's ever been harder to pull myself off the lab couch. 

***********************************************

This time Deadpool - well, Wade, now, actually - doesn’t manage to sneak up on me. 

“Nice try, dude. The slippers are a nice touch, though.” 

“Damnit!” comes from behind me, along with the rustling of slippers being removed. A mild tingle goes up my spine and I slip over the edge of the ledge while sticking myself to the wall just as one, then the other slipper flies over the edge where I had been sitting. I flick out a web to catch them, then flick them back on Wade’s direction. 

“Double damnit.” he says as I pop back up to take in his pout at the fact that he’d miss me completely and he’d ended up with a pair of slippers stuck to his chest. 

The giggle escapes me without my permission, I swear. 

After helping him get the slippers and webs off of him, we go on patrol. The banter is easy and the swinging loosens something in my chest like nothing else can. We find trouble because of course we do but it’s handled with minimal problems. 

After which, we find more trouble that is handled with significantly more problems. 

“I swear to Thor, if you  _ fucking die _ on me, I will bring you back from Lady Death, nurse you back to health, then kill you again myself! You stupid, stupid Itsy Bitsy baby boy!” 

“Awww, you d-do care.” I try firing back at Wade with any kind of humor or snark but it comes out a little too thready and pained. His grip on me tightens a little and I bite the whimper back because I don’t think I could take anymore hurt on his face. 

We manage to get ourselves (ie Wade drags my ass) back to his apartment and I’m placed on the floor of the bathroom while he pulls out his hospital-in-a-duffle-bag first aid kit. It’s just a large black bag that’s stocked with enough supplies to do almost anything but open heart surgery. And the only reason he has it is because of me, as far as I can tell. He heals stupid fast and never so much as cleans his wounds, much less dress them. 

But there he is, dropping that bag at my side and rummaging away. 

My fingers find the red electrical tape I stuck on there in a little cross as I stare at the ceiling. The goofy smile that settles on my face as the memory plays out in my head is pure coincidence, really. 

Probably the blood loss. 

Totally. 

Wade pops into view and the grin gets a little goofier. He hesitates for just a moment before he taps the edge of my mask at my neck in a clear question. 

“You know ya don’t needa ask, dude.” I reply with a contented note to my voice as I wrestle the spandex-like material from my face. 

Once the mask is off he runs a hand through my hair then holds my cheek, like he’s trying to prove to himself that I’m alive. 

“Bullet was a through-and-through so I’m just gonna stitch up what I can. It's ... yeah it's gonna really hurt, Pete, I’m sorry.” I nuzzle into his hand on my cheek, getting him to pet me and, honestly, I could die happy right about now. 

“S’not your fault. Not even a little. You’re the beeeeestest.” He’s at least smiling a little based off the way the mask stretches over his face but he just keeps apologizing as he starts to clean and stitch the wounds. 

After a point, though, I pass out from the pain, slipping into unconsciousness thinking, 

_ You’ve fallen for the guy, you dumbass _ .

***************************************************

My first thought as I claw my way back to consciousness is

_ ooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww _

And my second is basically that but with way more expletives. 

I choose to voice neither and open my eyes while stifling whimpers as I sit up. I figure out at a glance that I’m in a bedroom, the lights off with blankets tucked around me like I’m a little kid or a mummy. And wiggling around to untuck myself to get out of the bed proves painful at best and excruciating at worse.

The door cracks open just as I let slip something between a whimper and shriek. Big, warm hands are almost immediately on my shoulders to correct my posture for my wound, tense thumbs rubbing comforting circles into tense muscles, while the person attached murrmurrs soothing things like, “You’re ok. We’re ok. Everyone’s safe.” 

My breathing ratchets down from where it had ratcheted itself up without my say so. As I start to calm down, I take in a little more detail of my surroundings. This is Wade’s room and Wade’s bed and Wade’s smell surrounding everything here. The patrol, the fight, and the injury come back in snippets and starts and eventually the smell of food starts to permeate my panic, too. 

My stomach yowls like I haven’t fed it in weeks, the traitor. 

I give him a sheepish smile in the light from the hallway that’s seeping in from the half closed door. Wade smiles and I can see it this time, the relief in his blue eyes and the smile lines in his scarred face. He reaches around to grab a plate off the nightstand and hands it to me. 

It’s got three burgers on it and, honestly, if I hadn’t gone through the whole  _ you’ve _ - _ fallen _ - _ for _ - _ the _ - _ guy _ - _ you _ - _ dumbass _ bit it would definitely be happening now. 

I grin wide before shoving nearly half of one into my mouth with one hand while picking up another to hand to Wade. He waves it off and when I lift an eyebrow at him he says, “Already ate. It’s all for you.” 

Now it’s not completely unreasonable to believe that he’s eaten while I’ve been passed out for who knows how long. 

I also know him, though. 

I narrow my eyes at him and stop chewing as I tip the burger just slightly further toward him and wait. He fidgets a little, groans, rolls his eyes then snatches the offered burger from my hand with an exasperated, “Well if your not going to eat unless I do, Christ!” 

His stomach yowls just as loud as mine did a moment ago. 

Wade glares down at his stomach then over at me. 

I take another, smugger bite of my burger. 

We finish off the burgers -

(“I’m fine with one.” 

“You haven’t eaten in ages!” 

“And you nearly  _ died _ !” 

“Bah.” 

“ _ Peter _ !”) 

\- while Wade gives me an update on what I’ve missed. Apparently, I had slept most of the day, it was dark again and he had updated May like we had learned to do over the years. 

And by updated I mean he pretended to be me and said everything was  _ fine _ . 

Ned and MJ had both texted, too, but, “So, yeah, I didn’t really know how to respond to ‘Are you still mad about the blind date thing?’ or ‘Wat r u goin 2 wear 2 ur date?!’, sorry.” 

Wade looks like he wants to ask and doesn’t want to know and trying to hide both of those emotions all in one facial expression. I put the plate on the nightstand and flop (gently) on to the bed. 

“If it helps, I really don’t know how to reply either.” 

There’s a hesitation that was more felt than seen before he lays down (carefully) next to me on the bed. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. 

Just like he did that night. 

Just like he has so many times over the last two or three months. 

I know that if I tell him no he will take no offense and just try to distract me or sit there with me and just ...be. I’ve returned the favor many times at this point but I’m still so completely grateful to be asked this question by him, every single time. I turn my head to him to find that he’s already looking at me. 

“To you? I would love to.” 

A confused but pleased smile sneaks onto his lips but before he can ask I launch into whole blind date thing. He huffs at me as I get too into the hand gestures and whimper at the pain that shoots through my side and tells me, “For the love of Captain America’s ass, don’t injure yourself while  _ talking _ .” 

That gets a laugh out of me, which gets a grin out of him. He picks me up bridal-style as I giggle my head off to take me into the living room because I’ve never been any good at sleeping a lot or resting. So usually he distracts me with video games until I’m healed enough to move because he knows me too well. 

He’s getting the controllers and turning things on when he asks, halting and overly casual, “Do you think you’re going to go on that date?” He’s fiddling with a controller in his hands and he refuses to meet my eyes and I try like hell not to think about why. 

“I think I should tell MJ not to set me up.” His head comes up fast and the shock is so obvious on his face that I’ve gotta look away. “MJ means well, I know that, but I don’t want her to set me up. Or Ned or really just  _ anyone _ .” I look back up and over at Wade. 

“He hurt me but he didn’t break me, you know that right?” 

The severe way he held himself melts into something softer and a small smile curls his mouth. 

“‘Course I do, baby boy.” He reaches out and ruffles my hair and while I bat weakly at his hand and laugh in protest he says, almost to himself, “You’re the strongest guy I know.” 

I grinned at him and if I hadn’t lost so much blood earlier I probably would have blushed bright red.

***************************************************

“On your left, Queens!” 

I jump to the right and with a quick web-sling, I’m out of Cap’s way and landing on a flying drone, sticking to the top. 

“Karen, would you be so kind as to hack this thing, please?” 

“Of course, Peter.” Karen replies as I rip off a cover to access the guts so Karen can get in with the suit’s gadgets. “I have full control of this drone. I cannot gain control of any of the other units through this drone, though, as per the conditions of the exercise.” 

“Copy, but the drones have a system in place so they know where the others are to avoid friendly fire and stuff like that, right?” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“Can you access that?” 

“Yes, Peter.” 

“Awesome! Use that to pull all the drones positions on an overlay map for anyone with the H.U.D. system. Also, use it to give this drone it’s targets and make sure you mark our team as friendlies, got it?” 

“Already on it.” 

“Thank you, Karen!”

I jump off the drone and on to a passing one to start destroying that one. The drone is going down and I’m webbing off to I-haven’t-figured-that-out-yet when Hawkeye says, “Hey hey hey! Who got me a present?!” 

I tap my comms over to the team channel to reply, “It was on clearance and I just couldn’t resist.” 

Hawkeye cackles and I hear an explosion in his direction echoed faintly through the comms. 

“You gave him this, so you’re helping fix these drones, kid.” Mr. Stark says, wagging a finger at me as he flies by. 

I scoff lightly through a grin and say, “You say that like I wasn’t gonna help you in the first place.” 

Mr. Stark mutters to himself while Cap tries (and fails) to cover up a laugh. 

“If you boys are done bantering,” Widow cuts in, “we still have a mission to complete.” 

I get back to the training mission because if there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when Black Widow suggests you do something, you do it. We get rid off all the drones relatively quickly, get the ‘intel’, and save the training area from the robot invasion. After we pick up all the robots and scrap, have showers, and change, we get together in a meeting room to be told what we did wrong. Mr. Stark ruffles my hair on his way to the front with Cap and I can practically see him radiating proud dad energy like it’s going out of style. 

He’s been acting like this since I revealed my identity to the team. Long story short, I was in a tight spot, called for backup, and ending up having to reveal my identity to everyone. Mr. Stark already knew who I was so he started laying on the ‘you can tell no one who he is’ threats and everyone looked chastised to hell and back. I had to step in and explain that it wasn’t their fault, I don’t mind them knowing, I trust them, and it’s my fault they know anyway. After (unnecessary) assurances from everyone that nothing would change and they wouldn’t ask questions if I did want to give them answers I told them I had thought about telling everyone for a while anyway. 

“Why didn’t you just come out and tell us then?” Hawkeye had asked. 

I raised an eyebrow at him and said in as flat a voice my nerves could manage, “Yes, because there’s such a natural segway to ‘hi, this is my face and my name is Peter Parker and I know you’ve all known me for years but tada!’” 

There was a pause then Hawkeye erupted into rawkus laughter along with half the team though everyone was at least thoroughly amused. I don’t think I stopped grinning for hours after that. Everyone had adopted me even harder than they already had and Mr. Stark couldn’t have been happier. Honestly, I don’t think I could be happier, either. 

Mr. Stark and Captain American run through our performances while Hawkeye makes small paper airplanes to hit people with behind their backs. It’s all very standard until my phone starts ringing. The ringer startles me into motion. While I stammer out apology after apology, I get a look at the caller ID and slip into the hallway. 

“MJ, you ok?” I ask as I get out into the hall. 

“Just the usual existential dread, nothing new.” 

It startles a laugh out of me and relaxes something in my shoulders. Most of the people I know will text before calling unless it’s some kind of emergency. Turns out, MJ is calling because we’re supposed to be hanging out to meet her girlfriend soon and she needs to know when I’m available. It’s not an emergency but under her usual too-cool-to-exist fasade, she’s nervous as hell and I’m more than happy to help try to calm her. 

After giving her what info she needs and joking around a little, she seems much calmer and I tell her I kinda have to go, like, now. 

“Wow, Peter Parker actually saying he has to hang up on me. What, missing an Avengers meeting?” 

Once I don’t really give her a response she yells at me for being too nice then hangs up before I can explain anything. 

Well, I tried. 

I peak into the meeting to find everyone looking at me because, of course they are. 

“Hi, really sorry, again.” I try again, hoping that they’ll all get back to the meeting and ignore me like they were doing before all of this. 

“It’s fine, kid.” Mr. Stark says with a wave of his hand and it looks like he’s about to go back to things when, 

“Who was on the phone?” Hawkeye asks with a grin. 

“Um, it w-was just a friend of mine? She just needed to know when I could m-meet up with her and some other people.” I reply, failing to squash the nerves of being the center of everyone’s attention. 

“Girlfriend?” Black Widow asks with a single raised eyebrow, giving nothing away to what she thought on the matter. The involuntary snort that rips itself from my throat is harsh for the curious hush of the room. 

“No, god no, she’d kill me in seconds.” 

Black Widow smirks and goes back to her phone while Cap frowns and starts, “Now, Peter, I’m sure -” 

“I think he just means she’s out of his league. Come on, guys, stop harassing the kid about his love life.” Mr. Stark says as he transitions smoothly back to the actual meeting topics. Whether it was because he knew I found the topic awkward at the best of times or if he really did want to get back to the meeting was a mystery but it made me relax either way. 

After the meeting is wrapped up, everyone leaves pretty quickly for various reasons, mostly being they’re important people with busy lives. Plus, you never really lose the urge to get out of the classroom as fast as possible once you’re dismissed. 

“Hey, Peter, can we talk for a second?” 

Except the teacher, that is. 

I turn to Captain America and try to slap on my everything-is-totally-fine smile as I reply, “Sure, sir.” 

He gives me a considering look before he smiles back a little confused and says, “You’re not in trouble, Queens. And you can call me Steve.” 

“Oh,” I reply, “ok.” and relax myself a little, raising an eyebrow for him to go on. 

“Look this is probably not my business and tell me if you don’t want to talk about it but I really think, if you want to, you should give it a shot with this girl.” 

All the tension is back with general horror/embarrassment mixed into it, too. 

“I don’t want to talk about it?” I reply in the hopes that he meant what he said earlier. 

He nods and even looks like he’ll drop it but the _ kicked puppy look on Captain America's face _ is what does me in. 

I sigh and say, “Ok, I don’t - I’m not interested in MJ, ok? She’s my friend. Great friend, really. Had my back too many times to count. But, we aren’t, she’s not- it’s just not a  _ thing. _ Ya know?” I know I’m looking at him with a decent amount of desperation because I’m not sure how to explain that MJ found  _ a girl _ she’s head over heels for and I’m a crap liar. Cap has been great with adapting to the modern world but I haven’t asked ‘yo, how do you feel about current social issues’ lately. 

And I swear to anything that will listen that if he insults MJ, I will punch him. 

_ Hard _ . 

“Ok! That’s fine! I was just trying to help.” he says as he waves his hands a little frantic. “I guess I just thought-” 

My phone starts ringing, thank  _ fuck _ . Cap gestures at me to get it and I don’t bother looking at who it is, I just answer. 

“Hello?” 

“Baby boy! Oh, how I have missed you! When can we hang?” 

The amount of red that I am, currently, could rival the Iron Man suits. 

“I- ” I say and something in my throat cracks a little. I spin quickly, immediately facing away from Cap and trying like hell to inject normalcy into my voice. “I w-would love to hang out but I gotta go right now.” 

“Ok.” Fuck he’s  _ concerned _ , “Are you ok, Webs?” 

I feel my face soften at his words and why is he so damn  _ cute _ , “Yeah, I’m alright DP. I’m at an Avengers thing. But I’ll call you soon, yeah? Dinner maybe?” 

“Yeah sounds good, Pete! See ya!” he says, hanging up with the relief palpable in his voice. 

I’ve almost managed to forget I’m in a room with Captain America who’s hearing is good enough to have heard every word of that conversation. An awkward clearing of a throat is what snaps me out of the warm fuzzies Wade often gives me these days and I whip around to find Cap with a gentle smile and a raised eyebrow on his face. 

“I can see why you and MJ may not be a…..a  _ thing _ as you said.” he says and I - 

Well I try for words, an explanation of some kind, maybe even confess that I’m head over heels for the mostly reformed merc but what comes out is high pitched and warbled and very much  _ not _ words. I slap a hand over my mouth before anything else can escape. 

Death by mortification, that’s what’s going on my tombstone. 

Cap, of course, takes this as fear of what he thinks I think he thinks ( _ wow _ ) and says with a frown, “I hope you know that we won’t judge you.” His face goes a little self-deprecating and a lot apologetic as he adds, “That  _ I _ won’t judge you. I know I’m from a different century but I’ve done my research and I’m really happy that there’s so much more acceptance for that community these days.” 

I flap my hands around a little and try, “That’s not - I mean that’s good I just - do you even - ?” A deep breath from me and an encouraging smile from Cap and I manage, “I-I’m not with him. I like him but, uh, he doesn’t really know that.” 

Cap nods, understanding, then asks, “Have you thought about telling him?” That has my brow knitting in confusion as I rely, “Yes, but uh - look you are aware we’re talking about Deadpool, right?” 

“I assumed, I mean, you called him DP and he called you Webs, as well as your real name.” Cap responds. 

“You know I work with Deadpool?” 

He nods, then adds, “Tony’s the one that mentioned it a few times.” The shock must show on my face because he immediately looks confused as he asks, “Was he not supposed to know?” 

I shake my head a bit as I try to process this new information. 

“I mean,” I start, “I wasn’t hiding it from him or anything. But I always figured he’d have some Talk with me when he found out, ya know? Talking me out of hanging out with an ex mercenary always seemed like a very Mr. Stark conversation.” 

Cap is smirking as he replies, “I think he wanted to, at first. Pepper talked him out of it, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“Why?” 

He frowns a little in concentration and answers, “I think it was something along the lines of ‘he’s responsible enough to make his own mistakes without getting himself nearly killed, unlike you.’” 

This shocks a laugh out of me while Cap grins. 

I blink down at my black phone screen for a moment before, “There’s another reason I haven’t.” 

It’s soft but my voice is steady. 

Cap gives me a curious look but doesn’t say anything. I look down and reflexively rub at the back of my neck and say, “Let’s, uh, let’s just say my last relationship wasn't ...the best.” 

When he doesn’t respond right away, I look up as dread fills me. 

_ Why did you think he would be any different from the rest? _

“Who were they?” Cap asks when I meet his eyes. He looks perfectly reasonable, like he’s interested, wants to help even, but…. 

“No, you can’t hurt him.” 

“Oh come on!” comes loudly from the vent above us. A moment later, Hawkeye is landing on the meeting table. Falling through a vent, as Black Widow materializes in the doorway. 

“Tell us the name and you’ll never have to worry about them again, little one.” Black Widow calmly adds to Hawkeye’s previous whine. 

I groan, burying my face in my hands, while muttering, “You work with them. You love them. You will not hide from them for a century.” 

This gets me a laugh, a guffaw, and a huff. 

I’ll let you work out which was from who. 

*******************************************

Wade is holding out a (terribly) wrapped package with a bow tied around it and shifting nervously on his feet while my brain function fails spectacularly because  _ oh my fuck he got me a present _ . 

“I understand if you don’t want it bu-” I’m barreling into his chest before I really have a chance to think it through. As the gift gets squished between us I hope, desperately, that it isn’t breakable. Wade lets out a sharp exhale but wraps me in his arms, sinking a hand into my hair. 

“Thank you.” I mumble into his chest and he huffs a quiet laugh. 

“ ‘Course, baby boy.” 

In a fit of uncharacteristic decisiveness, I grab his hand and drag him to sit on his couch. He’s fidgeting nervously as I unwrap the present and unfold it. It turns out that it’s a hoodie, half my suit design, half his own. Side by side, I can definitely see why a lot of people call Deadpool Spider-man, but it’s also obvious in the design that the artist made an effort to highlight the differences to get the desired affect. The hood is the best part though. The silvery white lenses of our masks are there but just under it, it’s printed to look as if the fabric is bunched up. 

I put it on as I jog to the bathroom for the mirror, managing to only smack into one door frame on the way. Wade snorts a laugh at that as he follows behind me, the traitor. I pull the hood up and the lenses fit over my eyes and it looks so much like I’m wearing both suits that I can’t help but grin. It’s hard to get the full effect with the hood covering my eyes and everything but it’s just so - 

“We fit.” I blurt out before I have time to mentally edit anything. 

I spin around to see Wade, leaning in the doorway blushing, looking down, but a pleased smile curling his lips. 

“You think so?” he asks, still looking down at his feet with a blush mottling his cheeks. My heart starts picking up speed, trying to escape my chest, and my senses are going haywire with the fact that I’m panicking but there is nothing immediately threatening around me. 

I blame that for what I do next. 

His lips are softer than I had expected. It’s warm, wet pressure and toe curling sweetness. 

I’ve got a hand fisted in his shirt as he pushes me away just a little, enough that we’ve stopped kissing, panting lightly as we stare at each other in mild shock. His grip tightens a bit on the back of my neck, where it has apparently latched itself in our lip locking, as he says, “If this- I can’t don’t do this if you don’t- I’m not going to be able to take being a  _ rebound _ or -!” 

“You’re not a rebound. You could  _ never _ be a rebound for me.” I say, cutting him off as I pull him in with one hand, placing the other on his cheek. Stroking his temple with my thumb and smiling entirely too goofy I add, “You’ve been a great friend to me for a long time and you have  _ always _ just  _ listened _ to what I have to say. I don’t know if you want to do this, if you want to just be friends that’s more than I could  _ ever _ -” 

Wade cuts me off with a kiss, pulling me up and into his chest. I wrap my legs around his waist when he lifts one of my legs and as soon as I’ve climbed him like a tree he spins us around and pins me to a wall. This knocks a moan from both of our chests and he replies in a breath, “I’ll take everything you want to give me, baby boy.” 

We keep trying to kiss as he carries me down the hall, but our grins and laughs keep getting in the way. 

I wouldn’t want it any different. 

***************************************************

The next morning, after an  _ eventful _ night, I wake up with my face buried in Wade’s chest, wrapped in his arms and tangle in sheets with the sun streaming in through thin curtains. 

“Morning, beautiful.” Wade murrmurrs, dropping a kiss into my hair. I mumble something vaguely human in response. Wade chuckles which gets me smiling like an idiot...again. 

I’m noticing a theme and, honestly, I’m not mad about it. 

Eventually, life must go on, so we roll out of bed. Wade goes to make breakfast while I go to shower and as I’m leaving the bathroom he’s putting the plates on the table. He looks me over, all wet hair and half lost in his borrowed sleep clothes. 

Smiles like I’m the best thing since sliced bread and puppies. 

Sitting at the table, eating breakfast, and laughing like dorks, I know that it won’t always be like this. We’ll have our good days and our bad. With what we do and how we live, compromises will need to be made and talking things over will be a must. 

_ But _ , I think as I watch the way his lips curl and his shoulders slope down, relaxed,  _ love isn’t just working around each other, it’s working with each other, too _ . It’s helping each other even when they don’t know they need it. It’s listening to them, no matter what, without judgement or expectation. It’s being there for them. 

Just being there for them. 

That’s what love is. 

  
And as Wade pulls me into a kiss that ends in giggles and slim arms wrapped around broad shoulders, I  _ know _ that I’m right.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to get this out and on to a page and, well, here we are. Lemme know what you think. Message me if you'd like.


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